Vessel
by Leigh5
Summary: Set after Grave. Xander's got problems.
1. Prologue

He'd always thought it would be cold. It figured, in the course of a lifetime every bad thing turned out cold. From the very first vampire he saw, from the first he felt, it was always cold. Or maybe he had bad circulation. Or that he's lying on the floor in his kitchen. The cold, tile floor. He sat up. Enough of this.  
  
Dragging his body upright, he eventually gave up and slumped against the cabinets. Whatever, it doesn't matter, he was just mad and upset and all those other angry words that described his pathetic life. Every attempt at warmth had been shot down, and he knows. He just knows that he deserves this, that he doesn't get to have warmth. It's not for him; it's not for his life. He is a person surrounded by ice. A glacier even. A glacier in a snowstorm in the middle of the fucking North Pole. He shivered.  
  
Sometimes he wishes that he didn't have the craving for warmth. It would make everything so much easier than this. He never claimed to have a pleasant home life. In fact everything was so less than pleasant that he would have laughed had he not realized how depraved laughing actually was. And damnit, no matter how much he tried not to, no matter what he did to cut himself off, he couldn't stop loving.  
  
It seems that all he's good for is unrequited love of all types. Keeps getting harder, every time he gives his heart to someone he can literally feel them throw it back in his face, or throw it to the ground and light it on fire, or any other myriad of painful hurting things that you can do to someone who will forgive you because they have no choice in the matter. He has no choice. He has to love.  
  
Because that's all he has. And he's come to accept that getting close to someone is going to hurt. There isn't a way around it, he likes you, you hurt him and sometimes he gets hurt in the process of liking you. Not one person he has known has ever controlled themselves from their own cravings and faults, not that he can blame them. Buffy, Cordelia, Willow, Faith, Anya.names of the girls he wanted to understand and love. Even if all they can do is rip out his heart quite literally but no, he can handle being hurt. He was about bred for it.  
  
"Xander, my boy, you are lucky you are so tough. Us Harris's are made tough. You'll thank me for this one day when you're not such a pissant little kid."  
  
Oh yeah. Bred for it. And he understands that too. He gets why his dad was such a bastard. It's actually a blessing. Whatever doesn't kill you hurts like hell for a couple of days and makes you stronger. He can't imagine his life without him, and if he could change anything his dad would be the last on the list. Survival skills are needed for today. And plus, dear old dad taught him a quick way to warmth even if it was false. Nothing a bottle of Jim Beam can't cure.  
  
Still that fades away after awhile, and all he really wants is someone to understand enough to realize he can't like them and be willing to wrap around him like a human scarf. He thought about whores or a random stranger, because then love wouldn't factor in and they wouldn't be cold. Warmth can only come from an outsider. Friends hurt the worst. Family hurts the worst. But Willow.  
  
Well Willow doesn't realize how badly she hurt him. He thought that all he had to do was show up and say, "Watcha doin'?" And she would realize she was being an idiot and a moron for shooting stupid green bolts everywhere and trying to kill everyone. She's logical! She could figure it out! But no, he had to feel her hurt him like he always knew she would. Only he thought the demon magnet spell would be the big hurt he had to endure. Guessed wrong. Should've figured. He thanks God everyday for his dad's treatment, because otherwise he would have collapsed from the despair of Willow hurting him so badly.  
  
They only hurt you because they want to make sure you know your place.  
  
None of that matters now, though, as he gulps down another drink. He didn't realize how deep the bottle went. He was feeling so warm for a little while, erasing the memories of the disaster with Faith, the wrenching guilt of Anya, his failure to keep Buffy safe, and how sad Willow is going to be when she realizes what she did. He hopes that they can forgive him for loving them. They don't deserve this kind of love. He's so cold and so hollow and so drunk now. Those little green bolts aren't so funny when you can feel them inside you gnawing at your gut and pounding behind your eyes. Because every little thing they've done, every little remotely bad thing directed towards him is flashing before his eyes. Looking around the room that is starting to be tinged red, he can't quite stifle the sinister chuckle that's threatening to bubble out of his throat and it comes out as a choked sob.  
  
He was human. But it's so cold now. All he wanted was heat. Even that is too far for him to reach.  
  
Willow hurt him.  
  
They hurt him.  
  
He should hurt them back. Shakes off those thoughts, and stumbles to the bathroom. He leans over the sink and turns on the hot water. Feeling the steam start to rise he raises his head to glance in the mirror. Slightly too long dark hair matted to his face. "Need a haircut," he notes. Doesn't flinch when he notices his eyes go from deep brown to a bright green to that awful vampire gold color to a dark red and finally into black. The image in the mirror flickers and he's not looking at himself anymore, it's someone else he can't place.dark hair and mas--no definitely feminine and now it's blonde. Buffy?  
  
He can see his eyes return to their normal color and starts as a voice invades his mind,  
  
"Yes. You will do nicely." 


	2. Chapter 1

Title: Vessel  
  
Chapter 1/?  
  
Spoilers: Eventually all of season seven we have seen so far. But kinda not, since I'm changing the POV and lots of the dialogue. And also because it would end up being a transcript instead of an original story.  
  
Summary: Set at the same time as Lessons. Xander is um. . . getting worse I guess is how you'd say it. I suck at summaries. Shut up.  
  
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Xander groaned as he rolled over in bed. In bed?  
  
"Hey wait. . . . how'd I get back in here?" He wondered aloud. With a shrug he pulled his surprisingly heavy legs over to the side and after a good amount of struggling he sat up. "Gotta get a coffee maker to set on my nightstand," he muttered. Pushing himself up, he lurched to his feet and all but stumbled into the bathroom. He glanced in the mirror and recoiled at the image. "Ugh, damn," he complained as he reached up to touch the reflection, stopping a few inches short. The mirror stared back at him, showing the gaunt slightly pale young man with dark rings under his eyes, a slight sheen of sweat covering his face. He sighed and lowered his hand, "Definitely need a bedside coffee maker."  
  
He leaned over the tub and turned on the water, letting it heat up. After a moment, he risked another glimpse at his image in the mirror, growing uneasy at the scrutiny he was giving himself. There's something he's forgetting. Something happened, it tickled at the back of his mind. A vague memory of sadness and anger--  
  
"Going crazy here," he stopped and turned fully towards the sink, giving the mirror a small wave. As his reflection waved back, he narrowed his eyes, leaning closer over the sink and then abruptly turned away. He went to the tub and spun the faucet and the shower immediately came on. He almost looked back at the mirror but instead jumped into the shower, shaking his head ruefully, "Getting spooked by your own reflection. Damn, Xander, a hyena wasn't enough? Have to turn into a groundhog as well?" There was a soft clicking noise and he tilted his head to the side, jumping when another voice entered his mind,  
  
"Actually that's a shadow."  
  
Xander blinked and slowly turned around in the shower, eyes landing on the mirror only partially obscured by the shower curtain and he yanked the offending object aside. Glaring at the image of himself in the mirror, he crossed his arms as if daring it to speak again. That is, if it spoke in the first place.  
  
"This is insane," he grumbled as he suddenly realized he was standing in his bathroom staring at his naked self. "If I were hallucinating, it certainly wouldn't be a full frontal of me I'd be seeing." Satisfied with his own rationalization he began to pull back the shower curtain, not noticing the reflection flicker or the icy state of the water coming from the showerhead.  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Forty-five minutes, three cups of coffee, and a newly ironed suit later, Xander pulled up to the Summer's house and honked the horn. A few seconds later a primping Buffy and a grumpy Dawn jumped into the car.  
  
"Ok, we get it," griped Dawn, as she got comfortable in the back seat. "Promotion. Raise. New car. Yay you, but do you have to honk the goddamn horn every single day?"  
  
Buffy let out a startled gasp and gave a sideways look towards the driver, "Xander! Nice suit. You look all spiffy." She then glanced sharply at her sister in the back seat, "And Dawn! Language!"  
  
Xander shrugged, "Thanks. Client meeting." He snickered before continuing, "And for your information, Dawnie, it was TWO raises and I've only honked the horn when picking up Buffy. This is a new thing for you. Besides, this is special because it's your first day of school in a building that is responsible for my raise and brand new car in the first place." He patted the steering wheel lovingly and then paused, "And Buff's right. You shouldn't throw words that contain 'damn' around the hellmouth. Not to mention around the hellmouth AND my new car." He shuddered dramatically.  
  
Dawn snorted and then brightened almost immediately, "Hey! Did I show you what Buffy got me? It's a cell phone and I'm so changing the ring as soon as I figure it out." She continued to babble as they drove to the new Sunnydale High. Xander gave the appropriate nods and affirmative sounds when needed, noting every time she mentioned another friend she could call with her phone so he could estimate the bill. Cringing when he realized that perhaps a cell phone wasn't the best idea after all. He knew he should have stuck with a beeper, no matter how "passé" they were.  
  
He pulled up to the front of the school to let Buffy and Dawn out, called a goodbye and then drove to the back to check in with the crew. Glancing at the clock, he sighed. Three more hours of waiting until he was actually needed at the meeting. And he couldn't go pass time helping out at the site in case he accidentally dirtied his suit.  
  
He groaned and reluctantly got out of his car. A blast of heat from the outside hit him, and he groaned even louder. Great, he thought, Now I get to be all sweaty and sticky, and not the good kind either. He grabbed his keys and went to lock the door, when he felt a presence behind him. Whirling around he found himself face to face with a janitor whose face was falling off.  
  
Eww. He wrinkled his nose and walked up to it. Yep. Face definately falling off. "So," Xander began, "are you in some kind of gang? I mean, the last dead guy I saw that was. . .um, rotting had a big group of friends with him. I'm guessing you have friends too." He looked behind the janitor, "So where are they? And please PLEASE tell me that you aren't going to blow something up. I mean yeah, good for me 'cause more business, but it's a pain to hav--"  
  
"I won't hurt you." The janitor didn't seem to have spoken (since what was left of his lips didn't move) and just stood there as blankly as before. He gave an incredulous Xander as knowing of a look he could give with one eye missing. Xander bit his lip and suddenly lunged forward to tackle the. . . the what? What is it anyway? Before any other thought could form he fell through the janitor and landed in a heap next to his car.  
  
He turned over and sat up, looking down at his now very dirty suit he gave a resigned sigh and picked up his keys. Glancing up he confirmed what he had thought as soon as he hit the ground. The dead guy was no longer there.  
  
"Great. Just great. Now I get to go home and enjoy the great pleasure of wearing another suit and taking this one to the cleaners. I so don't need this." He picked himself up off the ground and got back into his car. "Oh, and lets not forget the small fact that I'M GOING CRAZY AND HALLUCINATING ZOMBIES." He banged his head against the steering wheel and had half a mind to stay that way when he got the distinct feeling of being watched. Lifting his head warily, he looked in the rearview mirror and then turned to see if anyone was watching outside.  
  
A blonde head was bouncing around the site near the school, and on further inspection he realized Buffy was walking around outside. Xander grabbed the door handle to go see what the problem was when he heard the same clicking that had happened earlier that morning. He jumped when a voice appeared to come out of nowhere.  
  
"She won't understand." It stopped as the frightened boy in the car began to look around frantically searching for a body to give the voice. Giving an exasperated sigh it continued, "For Christ's sake, Xander, the clicking is supposed to keep you from jumping. You know, a warning of some kind."  
  
"Um," Xander said while nervously biting his lip, "Excuse me from being scared when a disembodied voice keeps comin--"  
  
"I'm not disembodied," it interrupted. "I'm inside of you. I'm a part of you. Don't you know that?"  
  
Xander brought his gaze up to the rearview mirror and gave it a hard look, "So what, I have two personalities now? A nueral clone? Where did you come from anyway?"  
  
The voice sighed, "Listen, I don't know what's going on here either. I'm just a part of you. A more educated and suave part, sure, but still stuck inside this brain of ours. If it helps I think I found a way for you to see me. I don't think it will work if I have the same face as you, because then you know. . . you'd be staring at your reflection." Xander nodded slowly, his eyes still trained on the mirror. The voice hesitated before proceeding, "So, I'm just going to pick someone out of our memories."  
  
The mirror seemed to ripple as a flurry of images passed through it, never settling on one long enough to become discernable. Finally it slowed and stopped on a dark haired man with a solemn expression except for the trace of a smile on his lips. Xander blinked, peered closer to the mirror, and then leaned back against his seat heavily, "Oh you have GOT to be kidding me."  
  
Angel smiled down on him, "What? You don't like my choice? You are irritated at me anyway, might as well make the situation worse for you." The smile grew wider as Xander sputtered and chastised himself for talking to a mirror image of. . .  
  
"Hey wait, you're a vampire. You can't have a reflection."  
  
Angel clucked his tongue, "I'm a voice inside your head, Xander. I'm not actually Angel. Jeez, if I'd known it was going to cause this much trouble I'd have picked Willow." He thought for a second, "No wait, scratch that. It would be too confusing and plus emotional baggage we don't want to deal with right now." Xander glared at him, and Angel hurriedly continued, "Maybe this was a bad idea, and I should just go back inside your head." The reflection began to ripple again before Xander interrupted,  
  
"No, no. I can deal with me going crazy. I'd rather have an image than me just staring at myself. It was starting to give me the creeps anyway." He paused, "Why exactly are you here?"  
  
The smile faded from Angel's face and he said, "I don't know how, but I can see what's going to happen. Buffy doesn't realize what's actually in the school. Something dangerous, something insane--"  
  
"Oh I'm almost positive nothing can be more insane than me at this moment."  
  
"Secrets will hurt you all. I'm part of you, Xander. I wouldn't hurt you. I need you to trust me." Xander scoffed at that. Angel narrowed his eyes. "What?" he asked irritatedly.  
  
"You wanted me to trust you, and you picked the guy I trust the least."  
  
"You know, I could have picked Spike." The hair flashed platinum for a split second, and at Xander's sputtering Angel smirked. "Buffy is not prepared. But I can't help you with your problems unless you trust me. I'll have to prove it to you."  
  
He blinked and suddenly, he was no longer staring at the creepy dead guy, but at himself. He got an unexplainable feeling of foreboding and sensed yet another presence. Xander gave a resigned sigh and turned to face what he thought would be another hallucination when Buffy walked up to the car. He rolled down the window.  
  
"Xander, we have a problem."  
  
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Author's note: This is my first fiction, so I apologize if it comes off as amateurish. It's going to jump from light and dark like this, so don't be surprised at the switches in tone. Also I am in need of a Beta. So if any of you want to volunteer, just email me and stuff. And thanks for the reviews! 


	3. Chapter 2

Title: Vessel  
Chapter 2/?  
Spoilers: Just Lessons so far. I'm slow.  
Summary: Set at the same time as Lessons. A new name and the sad excuse for a plot slightly develops.  
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Xander looked up at Buffy who was currently leaning over the window and nervously flipping her hair. "Um, we have a problem? Like the new school design not up to your standards problem or you are hearing voices but you can't see who's talking problem? Not that I've been hearing voices or anything like that."   
  
"Like a oh-those-people-are-dead-and-can-still-touch-me-but-are-vanishing-into-thin-air problem," Buffy interrupted. "And they're dangerous. At least, I'm pretty sure they are dangerous because they seem to know who I am, and apparently I'm responsible for their deaths."   
  
"Oh come on, Buffy, you didn't kill them so how can you be responsible? I mean it's not like they have any proof or reason to believe you killed them. In fact, you probably saved their lives." He stopped and reconsidered, "Of course not technically, but in the "they got to live longer if only for a moment" way."   
  
"Well, it's kinda hard to convince them of that when they keep repeating 'it's your fault, Slayer' over and over, but that's not the point. The point is that I don't want to let Dawn be in a school where bad things are going on and I'm not able to be there all the time for her and I just can't --" She broke off suddenly and tried to compose herself. Speaking in a softer tone she continued, "I just can't leave her in a place where I won't be able to protect her. I want to keep her away from danger, but I don't think she's ever going to be safe. And it's my fault, if I weren't so . . ." She trailed off.   
  
"Weren't so what?" Xander asked just as softly. "Buffy, you do realize that you are the bravest girl around, don't you? I don't think that Willow or I would have survived without you. Because of you, we got to have a chance without being--"   
  
A high-pitched beeping noise interrupted them. Quirking her head to the side Buffy listened carefully, jumping slightly in recognition she fumbled for her phone. "Hello? Dawn? What's are you doing? Why aren't you in class? What's wrong?" She paused, "IN THE BASEMENT?!" Buffy looked up at Xander quickly, mouthed, "I gotta go."   
  
And ran off towards the school.   
  
Xander sat, staring blankly at her retreating back until he heard a quiet command: "Follow her."   
  
Immediately complying, he opened the door and began to head towards the school. Reaching the hallway, he stopped and began to look for a sign of Buffy. Turning around, he glanced side-to-side searching for flashes of blonde hair. He peered in random classroom windows and checked in the janitor's closets; walking by another door he heard the voice say, "In there." Not even thinking he pushed the door in before coming to his senses and backing up.   
  
"Whoa, hey. I'm not going into the girls' bathroom." He backed away waving his hands in front of him, as if trying to ward off some unseen force. "That's like, I mean I could get in trouble for going in there. Sued for trespassing or something."   
  
A quick click was all the warning given before the voice broke into his monologue, "What? After all this time you can't go into the little girls' room?" Xander gave a mental glare to it before explaining himself.   
  
"I just don't know if this is some grand scheme conjured up by a guy who owed you money. You know, to humiliate me or something."   
  
It gave a short bark of laughter before speaking once again, "Nah. If Angel wanted to get you back for all those old insults he'd rip off your leg and beat you with it."   
  
"Oh, well THAT'S original."   
  
The voice looked affronted. Ok, sounded affronted at least. He began to wonder about how a voice without a face could still feel like it was looking affronted, or give an eye roll at that, because he just knew that he was getting those from the stupid Angel voice. Before he could continue in his reverie the damn thing interrupted him again, "Fine. He'd rip off your dad's leg and beat you with it. Like back to the beginning. Poetic, no?"   
  
"Not particularly. And also a big whatever. I'm not going into the girls' bathroom." He was cut off by the phone ringing. "Hello? Oh hey Buffy. You're in the basement too? Oh ok . . . a talisman, find it, and break it. In the girls' bathroom. Sure. No problem." He hung up before reluctantly stepping forward and pushing the door open. He looked straight ahead and caught a glimpse of red hair before the reflection rearranged itself into Angel's form.   
  
"Oh, now that Mommy says it's ok, everything's just fine." Angel crossed his arms.  
  
Xander started to defend himself before stopping, thoughtfully staring off into space. "You know that thing with the red hair? Are you like one of those dolls that you can change the faces to different bodies, like Angel's face on Buffy's body and EW bad picture." He took in a deep breath. "So. . . nevermind."  
  
Angel gaped at the boy blinking in the bathroom. "You are a freak."  
  
"And you are a freak's semi-disembodied voice that's trapped in a mirror. So I'm thinking I got the better deal." Xander cheerfully added. A growl echoed in his mind as the face in the mirror narrowed his eyes. "Another thing, I can't just keep thinking of you as 'the voice,' so I've got to name you! I never had a split personality-neural clone before."  
  
Angel quickly interrupted, "You are NOT naming me Harvey."  
  
Raising his eyebrows, Xander looked the Angel image up and down, "And here I thought you didn't know any cultural references."   
  
"I'm not Angel. I'm you."   
  
Xander continued as if he hadn't heard Angel at all, "No, no. I can't give you recycled names. Oh! I know!" He paused dramatically, "I hereby name you Lulabelle!" A smile brightened his entire face as he went in search for the talisman.   
  
Lulabelle growled in the mirror and narrowed his eyes. Pointing to the side of the counter he clipped out, "The talisman is over there." And promptly disappeared.   
  
"Oh come on, Lula, don't be mad." Xander grabbed the talisman and picked it up to break it, "It's kinda masculine if you tilt your head and squint really haarrrrrrrr—oomph!" He was slammed from behind, by something very strong, and propelled into the wall. Taken by surprise he fell into an undignified heap, dangerously close to the edge of the hole and he yelled at the stupid voice again, "Why didn't you warn me!"   
  
"You're mean. And you pissed me off. So deal with it."   
  
"Oh FUCK you." Banging the talisman onto the floor the zombie vanished and Xander sat down panting heavily next to the gaping crevice. The gaping crevice in the girls' bathroom that was right next to his construction site. He smiled as he thought over that again. "Looks like completion of the building has been delayed. Here's hoping for another raise." He picked himself off the floor and went outside to grab yellow tape and cones to block off the door.  
  
*********************************  
  
Darkness surrounded the place and a faint sound of feet tapping on the floor echoed around the room. Peeking her head into the door, Buffy cautiously walked up to the crumpled, dirty figure of the man on the floor. Kneeling close to him, she gazed around the room, noticing the rancid smell of rotten animals. She eyed the corner where the stench was wafting from, and breathed in slowly so as to not inhale the brunt of the odor. Crinkling her nose she looked him over and whispered, "It's not safe here. You could get hurt or you could hurt others. You aren't in your right mind. You could hurt people without understanding. Students who don't know anything could be in danger, Spike." Pausing she glanced behind her, "I managed to throw Dawn and Xander off. They are so angry with you, for what you did to me. . ." Buffy took a stabilizing breath before saying, "I know I've forgiven you. I'll always forgive you. But you knew that. Or if you didn't, you know it now. It's just so wrong that I can't do anything about this feeling inside when all you'll do is hurt the people I love. Do you want me to love only you and be alone, away from all my friends? Is that what you want?" A low whining noise began as Spike started to rock back and forth slowly.  
  
"I can do it, you know. For you. I can be alone and apart and all ready for you. It will ruin what I am. Who I am, but you can live with that. It is what you are. Hurting people is what you do." She slowly lifted her arm to touch his face. "It's what I do. We're the same, Spike. Don't ever think otherwise. If I'm in pain, it must be love. Only love can hurt this much. Remember?" Spike closed his eyes and brought his hands to his face. The continuous rocking bringing a soothing rhythm to his mind, the constant chanting of "I didn't. . . no . . .I'm so sorry" taking him places other than the dark and the cold of the basement. A softer, more melodic voice filled the room and brought with it a dangerously silent air of authority.   
  
"I've got them all wrapped around whomever's fingers I want them wrapped around, and there isn't anything you can do about it. You can try. Oh yes, you can try all you want." It paused before stroking the crusted over hair, the new voice wavering between a strong commanding tone and a soft lilt, "In fact you might have fun trying to do all things "good and proper" now, atonement and such. But in the end, My Spike, you will just make a mess. A giant mess that nothing can fix. Not sunlight, nor stakes, nor love. You will be all alone." She laid a gentle kiss on his forehead, the constant rocking ceasing for just a moment. "Fight it sweetly. And make Princess a pretty plaything too." Smiling, Drusilla stood, the velvet rustled as she straightened the wrinkles. As she faded away, Spike lunged forward catching an unfortunate rat that happened to be walking by. Gripping it tightly, he sank his teeth into it, obscene tearing noises filling the quiet room and bile dripping down his chin. Throwing the carcass to a slowly growing pile of animal skeletons, he fell back against the wall, clutched his head in phantom pain, and set out for hopeless unreachable penance once more.  
  
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Author's Note: Ok, so this beta thing that I can't find. It's basically so I stay in character because I have a tendency to pretend that the anything other than certain traits exists. One more thing, this chapter wasn't supposed to take so long to write. My computer ate the first final draft and I had to rewrite this entire section over. It's still not like I had it before but oh well. And thanks for the reviews! I'm excited no one is suffering over this. Yet. 


	4. Chapter 3

"Lula! I'm home!"  
  
Smiling beatifically he continued his journey to the kitchen, rummaging around the refrigerator in search of a drink. Reaching in and grabbing the closest beer he could see, he pulled out the bottle and held it up triumphantly. "Man, I had a good day."  
  
On reflection, he shouldn't have had a good day at all. For one he had been attacked evil, rotting things and it now appeared that Sunnydale High had not changed despite outward appearances. On top of that, he now was almost completely certain that if he wasn't going insane, then something hellmouth-y was at work. You didn't just get voices talking to you every day. No matter, he would just have to bite the bullet and grab a few books and research people you can't see telling you what to do. Or he could just get on the internet.  
  
Sitting down at his very borrowed-from-work computer he typed: voices in your head. He wasn't experienced, that's for sure, but he'd seen Willow do this tons of times. Hell, if a computer genius that could hack into Police files could search on the internet then he. . . would never get anywhere. Sighing, he sat back heavily into the chair and ran a hand through his hair. Picking up the beer he took one long swallow before glancing at the search results. Over 8,000 hits. Great.  
  
He picked a random link. Hey, now this was something. Short stories about voices from nowhere. Xander shrugged, why couldn't he blow off some time reading something that could in no way help his "problem" just for the sake of procrastinating? Fifteen minutes later he was sitting perfectly straight staring at the screen with an expression somewhere between horrified disbelief and paranoid suspicion. No more stories. He clicked off the site, and anxiously looked around the room. Carefully sitting back, fingers twitching above the keyboard, he reached for his drink and found it woefully empty. Taking this as his cue, he grabbed the bottle and fled to the kitchen to grab another. Leaving the door open, he ripped the top off the next one and chugged.  
  
Finishing it off, he jumped nearly three feet in the air when he heard a phone ring and barely kept from dropping the bottle on the floor. Setting it down carefully, Xander walked over and picked up the phone warily.  
  
"Hello?" Long pause. "Hello? What is this?"  
  
No one there.  
  
He pulled the phone away from his ear and brought it in front of his face. Staring hard at it, he suppressed a shudder and set it down on the hook. The phone rang again suddenly. Xander panicked and backed up against the counter. Suddenly a maniacal laughter filled his head and Xander collapsed on the floor. "You." He rasped out.  
  
The giggles died down for a moment, and the voice said, "Hi. I'm a government agent." Laughter bubbled up again.  
  
Xander glared at the floor and said again. "You."  
  
Lulabelle was heaving now, only just able to pant out the words, "Oh my god, you are so easy. Phone ringing. Priceless. And before you ask, I'm not your subconscious either."  
  
Xander gave a put upon sigh before pulling himself up and proclaiming, "Well now that you completely scared the shit out of me, I'm going to bed." Despite the good feelings he had earlier, he suddenly felt like a weight was pressing into him. He dragged himself in to his bedroom and fell into a heap on his bed. Not bothering to take off more than his shoes, he rolled over and stared at the ceiling. Forcing his eyes open he glanced at the radio by the bed. Nine o'clock. I shouldn't be this tired, he thought right before he passed out. It was just two beers.  
  
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Blackness filled the room, an oppressive silence filled the air. Labored breathing was the only thing interrupting the stillness of the apartment and all at once a chilling breeze wafted through the apartment. Xander moaned softly in his sleep and shifted closer to the wall. The wind picked up and began to circle around the apartment, picking up speed with each rotation.  
  
It reached the bedroom for the third time, suddenly stopping and focusing right above the sleeping man. What once was wind seemed to condense into a fog, a green glow beginning to emanate from the center. Gathering together, it floated closer and closer to the bed, the outer edge darkening as it neared. At the same time the light intensified, tentacling out and covering the room. Groaning, Xander seemed to awaken somewhat and lifted his arms as if to defend himself in an attack. Above him the fog had started to whirl around the bed, concentrating on the spot where he lay prone.  
  
It continued its journey, drawn closer to the man who was now actively swatting at something above his face. Abruptly grabbing the blanket he had pushed to his waist, Xander pulled it up over his head. Grasping it desperately, he awoke slightly shivering. A faint scream sounded in the background, dying off as he became more coherent. Xander cautiously removed the blanket and searched wildly around the room in search of an intruder. Giving a slight look at the clock he noticed only two hours had passed.  
  
Speaking if only just to hear his voice aloud he blurted, "What the fuck was that?" He blinked slowly and lay back down. Sometime after he had passed out his shirt had gotten tangled up in the blanket and now he was covered in sweat. Reluctantly he rolled himself over, shoved himself out of bed and moved towards the bathroom stripping off clothes along the way. He stopped and stared at the mirror with tired eyes.  
  
"Well? Do you have anything to say?" His reflection stared morosely back at him, face haggard and drawn. Looking for just a moment longer, Xander turned away and stepped into the bathtub, letting it fill up over him. After a moment he turned off the faucets and just lay there, staring at the ceiling. Leaning his head back against the tile, he closed his eyes and began to try and remember the dream.  
  
*********************  
  
Darkness. Well not really darkness, it was bright in a way. If you can be bright in the dark. Almost blinding, in fact. Shrugging it off he pursued the memory further. Oh and there was pain. Couldn't forget that, seeing as how it was apparently the most important part. They kept repeating it too. They. . .  
  
Xander squinted hard, trying to delve into his mind. There was a They. He knew that much, but he could not for the life of him remember who They were, although he knew it in the dream. They kept repeating something important. Something he had to do. Something he was responsible for.  
  
But that's the thing, he wasn't responsible for anything other than the crew. Maybe Buffy and Dawn, but those two could take care of themselves if it was what the situation called for. He slammed his fist into the water, splashing it all over the floor. He was supposed to remember. He knew that. He couldn't screw up something his dreams were telling him. Or perhaps his dreams weren't important like Buffy's prophecy dreams, even if they seemed like it. It's not as if he ever predicted catastrophic things so maybe he was over-analyzing.  
  
The more he thought about it, the more aggravated he became, frustrated with not being able to figure out why he needed to recall the details. About pain. Fuck. All he could remember was really bright darkness and something an unknown They was saying and if he EVER told anyone about this dream he was going to be committed he just knew it. Opening his eyes he once again stared at the ceiling. He sighed, even when he was just thinking he babbled. Grabbing a towel he quickly dried himself off and left the bathroom, not bothering to drain the water. He needed to get a drink NOW and nothing was going to deter him for even three seconds.  
  
Nearly slipping on the wet floor he trudged to the kitchen, glimpsing the red digital clock as he walked by. 12:45. He had been in the tub for an hour and forty-five minutes. He slowly turned around and made his way back into the bathroom. Once there he stared at the water. Plunging one hand in, he held it under for a couple of minutes. Then put the other in. Splashing his face frantically for a couple minutes he was suddenly hit with the visual of him kneeling on his floor, a towel loosely wrapped around him, dripping wet and water all over the room. He stopped. Swirling a finger on the surface of the water he remembered what it was about the dream.  
  
There was pain, sure, but not from external blows. It was like a poison, acid eating at him from the inside. Looking intently at what was left of the water, he tried to rationalize it away. Kept coming back to the same thing. The water was cold. It had to be cold, he didn't like hot baths and it was just merely warm to begin with. Nearly two hours later the water must be cold. But he couldn't feel it. Soaked to the bone in an air-conditioned apartment he should be freezing.  
  
He couldn't feel anything.  
  
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A/N: In case anyone was interested, the short story Xander reads in this chapter(yes, I'm a freak, he actually did read a story) is by Richard Matheson, and I think it's called "Person to Person."(It's featured in the book "I Am Legend.") Also, I want to send a thanks to my new found beta, without whom you people would still get this story, but it'd be [more] shoddily written. So thanks Oz! 


	5. Chapter 4

Water dripped down Xander's torso as he slowly stood up. Grabbing the nearest pair of sweatpants from the dirty clothes hamper, he pulled them on without drying off. Somehow the apartment suddenly felt too small, the rooms suffocating him; he hurriedly left the bathroom and walked into the kitchen. Dizziness overwhelmed him and Xander fought back the urge to sink into the floor. Eyes closed, knuckles turning white from gripping the counter, he took a couple of shaky breaths and opened a drawer. Above the rattling of silverware he heard the clicking noise that had now surpassed mild annoyance to become wearisome. Shutting his eyes tightly he waited.

"Just what do you think you're doing? Freaking me out, splashing everywhere. It's not like that accomplishes anything. And _now_ the bathroom is all _wet._" The last part ended on an amused whine. 

Perfect. My annoying inner voices now have annoying tones to use. Xander reached into the drawer and grabbed a steak knife. Silver flashed in the sparse lighting coming in through the window from the nearby street lamp. He looked into it, really looked, as if it held all the answers.

The amusement quickly left and a frantic edge tinted the voice, "What the hell are you doing with a knife? Dude, it's just water. It doesn't mean anything." 

Making his way to the stove, he leaned over and grabbed a box of matches. He set the knife on the grill and slowly opened the box. It wasn't that he couldn't actually feel the cold that was bothering him, no that was just a new fun Xander quirk. But it was another thing he wasn't able to control. Something else to separate him from his friends. If you can't share pain- 

"I don't really see how this can be considered a good thing. . ." the voice trailed off as Xander turned on the stove, and a second later lit a match. "Really, now, what are you trying to prove?"

A blue flame engulfed the blade of the knife. It wasn't just separating him from his friends either. The same thing linked all his childhood memories. To take that away. . .What was he if he couldn't control his own body's reaction?

"It's not as if you are hurting anyone. You're just tired. "

Xander grabbed the handle of the knife, suspending it above the small fire. Glancing down, he took in how he was dressed. The gray sweatpants were clinging to the dampness on his legs, not providing any comfort or warmth. Or he assumed they weren't providing warmth. 

"Isn't that all that matters? It's just a freak occurrence."

If that was all it was, a spot where God forgot to turn on his sensory nerves, then shouldn't he feel something right now? The hardness of the counter, the itch from drying cotton, something other than numb? All he could think was, _How deep does it go? _Sci-fi plotlines came out of nowhere, each trying to justify what was going on, each suggesting a different thing he now was or a new ability he now possessed. A faint sizzle sounded and he peered into the utensil, seeking out his reflection amid the blackened crust from previous meals that had not been thoroughly cleaned off. A curl of smoke lifted off the knife and swirled above his head. 

Still holding it above the flame of the gas stove, Xander brought the knife fractionally closer to his body. A thought crossed his mind, and he tilted his head, experimentally exposing his throat. I wonder if my neck--his mind shut down that train of thought, hands shook violently at what he was contemplating doing for just even a second, and who _thinks _of things like vampire bites and scars and ripping body parts open at times like this? The hand that clutched the knife moved of its own volition, bringing the reflective surface back into view and he caught a glimpse of an eye. He cleared his throat. "Who are you?"

The voice, startled by the sudden sound reflexively stuttered out, "Well. . . I'm you." Pause. "I'm you," it repeated, in a calm, reassuring tone that produced neither of those reactions in Xander. 

Swallowing heavily, he licked his lips, "Then this is going to hurt like a bitch." Before the last word had completely left his mouth, he pressed the broad side of the knife hard into his forearm searing the skin. Squinting his eyes shut, Xander took a couple of deep breaths before chancing a look downwards. Smoke. Coming from his skin. His very badly burnt skin. 

Suppressing the bile that threatened to rise in his throat, he quickly pulled the knife away and winced at the sound of ripping skin as it was torn from the blade. He gave in to his earlier urge and sunk to the floor, staring at the wound on his arm. 

"Wasn't that fun? I'm so glad that I'm marooned in a body that cannot control the urge to hurt itself."

Nausea rose up once more, a horrific smell of scalded flesh filled the apartment. He couldn't tear his eyes from the mark. Skin rose up and blistered, becoming angry shades of red and yellow. His stomach turned. "Who are you?"

The voice repeated, "I am you."

Xander seemed to gain some of his earlier energy, "Don't lie to me! You're something else! You can't be me! I'm not even sure if I'm still. . ." _Human. _"here." The sentence faded away into a despairing whisper. 

There was a small pause. "I won't let you hurt yourself, Xander. You are obviously not able to curb your impulses."

Xander's eyebrows rose, "Just what do you plan to do about it? You seem to forget that you are trapped in my head." He suddenly felt completely drained and if he could just go back to bed, the injury would be taken care of tomorrow. Various thoughts flew through his head. Not like it was serious. Didn't people burn other wounds to prevent infection? Leprosy. I could have leprosy, the idea came unbidden into his mind. Lepers don't feel pain.

"Wrong." Though to what the voice was replying to, Xander had no idea. Continuing on quickly, "You haven't turned off the stove." He got up and reached over the burner, not bothering or not caring to move the knife and turned to go back to bed. 

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Author's Note: It wasn't supposed to take three weeks to update, I swear! See, I kinda got distracted by my. . . um, my laziness. So, sorry about that. As always, thanks for the feedback. 


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